


Ammunition

by icedteainthebag



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-09
Updated: 2015-09-09
Packaged: 2018-04-19 22:39:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4763657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icedteainthebag/pseuds/icedteainthebag
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Mulder gets home from work, Scully wants a word with him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ammunition

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing but a smut biscuit, sometime after IWTB but before the fabled break-up of the revival/season 10. First posted on tumblr.

Mulder comes home and she’s reading in bed, in thirds: a third reading, a third late-afternoon snoozing, a third licentiously daydreaming. This is his latest attempt at a nine-to-five and she appreciates it. The suits have come out of storage and his obsessive hunching over the old Dell monitor searching for newfound answers is mostly gone. Absence makes the heart grow fonder; his office computer beckons to him with the possibility of the latest conspiratorial ravings, this she knows.

His brief acknowledgement before entering the bathroom is something she’s become accustomed to after so many years. They aren’t on borrowed time anymore; minutes missed can be made up. Though they are, admittedly, a little behind.

Her fingertips tease the bare tops of her thighs, urging her sleep-addled flesh awake. Fingers that casually dip lower to the soft curve of her belly, across her waistband, over and under fabric until it practically begs to be taken off. She doesn’t mind. He won’t mind.

She opens her nightstand drawer, often considered the most accessible thing in her life.

Mulder exits the master bath and she’s spread out on the bed, one leg dangling over the side. The air’s cool; she’s wet. She turns on the egg-shaped bullet in the palm of her hand, a spike in expectation pulsing through her. She has his rapt attention now; she indulges in his silent, studious gaze as her hand moves between her legs, barely touching. His eyes meet hers at the first sound that escapes her lips.

“Watch me,” she says. He begins pulling off his jacket and she warns him, “Don’t.”

The jacket remains, shrugged back on. So nonchalant given the bulge in his pants.

Her hips encourage her hand to quit teasing, so she relents and is rewarded by a delicious roll of pleasure. Walking across the room, he settles in beside her, rumpled cotton sheets under pressed wool, and he’s quiet, so quiet. First she feels his breath across her bare shoulder, then hears his soft moan in response to hers, and then she smiles and grabs his tie, holding him there, close but not too close. Just close enough that his hips graze her leg when he can’t stop them from moving. Far away enough to resist a kiss.

The soft fabric falls loose past her fingers when she comes.


End file.
